THE GUARDSMAN: Book 2: Blood Debts – Chapters 65-66

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The Guardsman, Book 2: Blood Debts:

Chapter 65)

Bryce leaned over the hotel lobby’s open atrium half wall and railing. The marbled tiles and sound-deadening walls made the lobby one of the more comfortable Bryce had ever visited. As a junior officer, even with the Guardsmen pay bonus, this place was way out of his reach financially. To stay here he would need serious combat residual bonuses, and his limited number of tours had not allowed him to accumulate that level of passive income yet. “Maybe I should get back out into the field after this tour. I should talk to Samson about that when we catch up after this. A nice prestige assignment like this and maybe I could get a line squad or platoon leadership slot next. I could get used to this kind of place.”

A worker moved with care invisibly to the lush green potted palms that were scattered around and screening the nooks and elegant areas of the lobby.

It was a testament to the hotel’s status that it dispensed with both artificial plants and automatic watering systems. Instead, it used real plants and favored a living, breathing gardener. The position of the hotel at the upper stories of the building, high enough that they could maintain a direct channel from the domed and sunlit windows at the top of the building to the plants below and waste all that space in between for the sake of ‘ambiance’, was yet another softly elegant touch that whispered, in no uncertain terms, like the living gardener, that this was a place of money and power.

So, Bryce leaned over the railing two floors above both the gardener and the desk clerks who had eyed his entrance with curiosity while playing with the buttons behind the counter. The clerk had presumably alerted security to watch him. Bryce was positioned above and to the right of the only public entrance into the hotel. It was a combined miniature transit terminal and valet parking for those too dreadfully poor to afford their own proper driver. It also coincidentally prevented walk-in business because there were no stairs or elevators to other sections of the building.

In order to reach this particular palace in the clouds, a customer needed to fly. There was not even a public tram system relayed to the place.

Fiddling with his fingers for the hundredth time since arriving, Bryce’s marks finally arrived and passed through the outer doors, into the lobby, already holding the key.

The skinny blond reporter and her cameraman marched across the lobby to the desk manager, key in hand. The amazing architecture and materials that made this work of art, made it impossible to hear what was being said between the parties at the desk. The hand gestures from the clerk were clearly instructions to a room.

Bryce was pleased when the two climbed the terraced marble stairs to the elevators at the core of the building and began their assent to the distant level above. Bryce counted the floors again, to make sure he was looking at the correct one. The car drifted to a halt at the correct floor and the two stepped out. He watched their disappearance from the car and its plunge down the clear tube to the battery of four other elevators, docked at the atrium floor.

The elevators provided access to all floors but operated on a progressive access system. As a result, the limited number of customers at the top had an almost dedicated elevator and rapid elevator service, while floors below the top stepped down in prestige based on key-card access level.

Bryce supposed that could be an issue if you were traveling down from a penthouse suite to something below. But why bother … if someone could afford one of those places, they could probably get another place just like it on the upper floors and not worry about the ruinous expense.

He had tried to give back the two ten-thousand credit gold coins when Persephone had given them to him this morning. The final leg of the newly arrived reporter’s Odyssey was this hotel. It was one of Lady Persephone’s favorite locations. She apparently not only knew how much the rooms would cost but knew exactly the room she wanted from memory.

Bryce had felt decidedly foolish after retrieving the two sets of keys that morning. The first key was for the upper-level room and the second was for the room behind him, as he stood looking at the desk clerk waiting for change. He had felt like a rube when after standing there for several moments the clerk realized why he was standing there looking confused, the desk clerk silently slid the bill across the desk and smiled his patronizing smile. There was no change from twenty-thousand credits worth of rooms no one was going to occupy for the night. The upper level room was an even fifteen thousand credits and the one behind Bryce was five thousand.

Bryce had just walked away in a daze to complete his mission in the upper-level room.

So now he had to wait.

Over the next thirty minutes no one entered the hotel, nor did anyone approach the elevator for the floor where the reporters were ensconced.

That small blessing had set Bryce at somewhat greater ease. In the week they had spent planning this little meeting this was the part that concerned him the most. Crossing back and forth in the hotel’s atrium had set Bryce’s teeth to grinding. Samson had insisted it was the best way, even though Samson had taught Bryce years before to ‘never cover the same ground you already used’, in an operation. Samson had said doing that was the easiest way to get into a pattern and get yourself dead, the enemy could just wait for you and when you got lazy and complacent, they could take you out at their leisure.

Yet here he was, doing the very opposite of that advice that had kept him alive.

When Bryce was asked to pitch in for the additional room he was demanding, he reminded both Her Highness and Samson that he was banished and penniless. To which Samson had laughed at Bryce’s expense, “Then I guess we do it my way, since we are operating with my coin.” That of course had touched off a revoltingly sappy lover’s quarrel, over whose coins they actually were, in their dirty little ‘pay-by-hour’ motel room.

It was like watching some horrible and tiresome entertainment romance vid, but not being able to change the channel. Bryce suspected she was doing it to get under Samson’s skin and the High Commander was having his fun, at Bryce’s expense, right back.

The irritated reporterette stormed into the summoned elevator car above his head. Bryce could see that April was tapping her foot impatiently as they rode down. She was also barking some monologue at her cameraman who was silenced by the lift tube. No one had entered the hotel during their trip down. Bryce could only exhale his awareness of the coming storm.

April’s jaw and shoulders were set as she stiffly tried to slap her heels into the marble floor to make the customary cracking sound that came from women’s shoes. The sound didn’t travel to Bryce. Even though April had no idea where to look for him or even who she was supposed to look for. Bryce could tell she was not pleased that her stalking around the bank of elevators to the one she needed wasn’t echoing with the authority she desired. Guillermo snapped the call button just in time so she would not wait for the door to open.

The elevator tube was at the base of the circular array with each tube at the five-point star facing away from the unassailable penthouse elevator at the point that faced the entry. It unceremoniously drops riders off on the floor desired without displaying them on their stately journey to the penthouse in full view of the entire hotel atrium. Bryce again admired the level of detail and planning that went into the hotel. It was not so much that he could never afford a penthouse room up there, but the planning and precision of execution was something he could and did appreciate.

The plan required that April and Guillermo be separated from all possible watchers.

Bryce had toyed with the idea of mocking the two by ignoring the fact that he had the key to the door they were supposed to enter. However, he decided his next request would be aggravating enough, and no point in starting the fight early. So, as the blond thunderhead approached, he turned slowly popped his key into the door, and held it open as they approached. The briefly flashed question in her eyes disappeared when she saw the room number and didn’t even slow down before entering as Guillermo muttered a soft but polite ‘hello’.

The mirrored security glass in the hotel windows and dense shielded walls also served to blur heat signatures and electronic signals as well as to obstruct visual tracking of those inside, even when it was dark as night outside and lit inside. Privacy and security were important to those rich and powerful enough to entertain at or stay at a place like this, which was also why Persephone and Samson chose this location to spoof any electronic tags on April and Guillermo.

As the thick solid wood door to the room slid silently shut behind him and quietly clasped into place, Bryce held out his hand to Guillermo, “May I please have your camera.”

Guillermo hesitated until he saw an identical machine sitting on the table to Bryce’s right. He guessed he would comply since this stranger knew enough to know the camera he was using. It was something a casual observer could not know. The stranger popped the memory chip from Guillermo’s camera and ran a quick finger over the ports looking closely at it before slipping it into the duplicate camera on the table.

While the stranger handed the camera back to Guillermo, he sighed while standing between the two reporters, “Please call me ‘Bryce’. I know you were expecting someone else and that was a long trip you took getting here. Unfortunately, it is not over yet … “

April couldn’t take it anymore and interrupted, “What do you mean ‘not over yet’!? How much longer do you plan on keeping us running around!”

Bryce tried the diplomacy thing, “Ma’am, I understand you have been traveling for four hours this morning so far and that it is in fact no longer morning at all. Please trust me, that you are almost done traveling.” With another sigh, Bryce picked two empty black folding travel bags off the table and checked the initial chalked marker on each bag, before handing one of them to each of the two reporters. “That statement won’t make this next part any easier, so I’ll just say it … Strip all of your clothes off and lay them out on the bed. I need to separate you from any tracking devices that may be on your person. Once you are naked, I will allow you and the travel bag with your initials at my feet, which contains a full set of clothing, into the bathroom to change. Do not open the bag before you are naked, or I will leave, and you will never hear from us again.”

Indignant, April demanded, “Well, why do you need us to strip!?”

Bryce thought only of patience as he shared, “I need you to strip Ma’am because as a result of your five-hour live-fire and documentary hit series with Lady Persephone last week I was able to find her residence. If I could find her, so can the paymasters for the assassins hired to kill you all. And I did it with only the limited money in my pockets and the resources I had in my head. If you want to finish your interview series, you need to strip down to your skin and I need to make sure you aren’t palming anything before you enter the bathroom. The only way the assassins could have tracked you all and arrived when they did was to follow you and Guillermo by some form of tracking device attached to yourselves or your equipment. So, you need to lose it all.”

The cameraman’s muffled curse was followed by the soft plop of his shirt which was thrown to the bed next to his empty bag before he stripped everything else off. He obviously wanted to get this over with. Spreading his fingers and turning all the way around Bryce dismissed him to the bathroom to change. Bryce handed Guillermo his assigned black travel bag as he left for the bathroom with the bag of new clothes in hand.

Bryce modified her, “They are nice clothes, Ma’am, I promise. Lady Persephone picked them out herself. She told me expressly that she is ‘sorry to put you through this but that she hopes you enjoy the new clothes’. Her words, not mine. I know zip about clothes.”

April snapped, “I’m not some cheap peep show! I don’t want you ogling me.”

Throwing his hands up in defense, Bryce barked, “Oh no! I have had plenty of lessons and practice at precisely not ogling this last week.” Muttering to himself, “Even I learn quickly when Samson has a gun to my head.”

Pulling her top loose, the ever-inquisitive reporter asked, “Why did you have a gun to your head?”

Bryce admitted, “Well, I looked that way not thinking. High Commander Rockpoint caught me looking at Lady Persephone in her natural state. It was an accident and a long story.”

April demanded of the stranger, “Then what do you intend to do?”

Working her through the process, Bryce told her, “Well you can turn around and face the wall and I’ll watch your feet to keep the empty bag in sight, your new clothing bag next to me and I just need the one quick turn and you can get dressed.”

When the two reporters finished and dressed Bryce kept them separated from their clothing and other possessions that they had brought by having them stand over by the door, while he scooped up their clothes and stuffed them into the travel bags with the appropriate chalk letter marking. Satisfied that he hadn’t missed anything he picked up the new camera from the table and handed it to Guillermo.

The woman asked, “If you suspect our things have tracking devices on them, how are we going to get our stuff back?”

Flipping the key in his fingers, Bryce answered calmly “I’m going to give you the key to this room and when we are done you can come back, collect your stuff, and keep your new clothes. The room is reserved for the rest of the day and scheduled for a late checkout tomorrow at 1700. As long as you get back here in time you won’t even need to talk to room service about your bags. They will be here waiting for you.”

Departing the room with the contaminated clothing and hanging the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door Bryce turned to the reporters.

Guillermo asked, “Where to now?”

Bryce informed them, “Now we go back upstairs and wait for shift change.”

Each reporter asked about opposite halves of the statement.

April asked, “How do we go back upstairs? The instructions were to leave the key up there when we left the room after waiting half an hour.”

Guillermo asked, “Why shift change, isn’t that a long time?”

The two followed him towards the elevators. Bryce looked around and saw no one in the area, or even in the lobby, and decided to answer. He pulled a duplicate key out of his pocket, “Yes, those were your instructions, but I have the other key.” Calling the elevator, he said, “Shift change so we can leave using the employee’s entrance and avoid any tails at the front door. They will assume since your locators stopped moving that you are in that room, behind us, still waiting for us to pick you up if they come in to track you. When they don’t see you leave without them, they will be none the wiser. The only people allowed in here are guests and any agents on your tail would be tagged by security for milling around. That would blow their operation.” Bryce finished as they reached the ground floor and the doors opened.

Stepping around the elevator bank, he swiped his key for the access to upper floors. When the doors closed, he continued, “We will wait a few hours in the room. I know you two haven’t eaten anything so we can pull some food out of my bag upstairs.”

April’s incredulous tone cut Bryce back to reality, “Bag!? There was no bag up there. We checked the room, there was nothing else to do while we waited!”

Feeling clever, Bryce asked, teasing, “Did you check between the mattress and the base of the bed?”

April informed him, “I checked under the bed, why?”

Smiling, Bryce told her, “No, it’s under the mattress. I broke out the contents of the bag and flattened them all under the mattress itself. Then I flipped down the comforter and checked that it was all covered. I could really use one of those snack bars I packed. Following you two around is working up my appetite. I didn’t want anyone else to find my bag either. Besides, we will be waiting a few hours before we can move with a shift change.”

Chapter 66)

Persephone was getting playful in their private VIP room at Vlad’s. “Damn it, woman, stop that!” Samson’s nervous smile and flicking eyes only redoubled her efforts.

The little she-devil looked quickly back over her shoulders smiling her impish grin, biting her bottom lip, and pulled his shirt from behind his belt. Slipping her fingers under the shirt, to play her nails and fingertips over the smooth skin and solid muscle of his flanks, “What’s the matter?” She teased, nose inches from his, while she curled in his lap, “Afraid you’re going to get caught molesting me again?”

Samson drew the word out into a soft kiss on the tip of her nose, “No. I just remember how well things went the last time you wanted to play this game.”

She smiled again as her soft pinch, in the ticklish hollow, under his belt, but between his abs and left flank, caused him to jump, and sputter, an indignant noise. “Woman! It’s not playtime!”

She teased, “It’s always playtime! You just need to find a reason for it, you old stick in the mud,” removing her left hand from the warm confines of his shirt, she tugged gently on his right ear and kissed the newly exposed neck.

Samson groaned, “Persephone … We’re supposed to be working, remember?”

Shifting her knees, she dropped from a folded ‘sidesaddle’ to drop her bottom onto Samson’s legs, with knees to his sides and she crushed her face into the crook of the exposed neck as her hands fell and she coughed several mock cries. “I don’t want to work … why can’t people just leave me alone, so I can be a normal woman! … Just a normal woman,” her play turned to a flood of real emotion as she tipped over the razor’s edge of control, “Who doesn’t have to worry about interstellar assassination plots, ‘profit and loss’ statements, corporate lineages, shareholders, illustrious members of the board of directors, and the fates of hundreds of billions of people. I just want to be normal … I don’t know how much more of this I can take, Baby!”

At the last, she really did shudder. Samson felt the wet fall of a tear on his neck. It was followed shortly by a second tear down his collar. Encircling her limp form in both his arms, nearly touching hands to elbows, she cut loose, and her emotions poured forth and soaked his neck in wracking sobs.

There truly was no passing of time down at the bottom of the world where the sun never shone. She wept quietly suspended in the world as it moved around them.

Vladimir Lee’s bouncers stood impassively facing the main body of the club and bar, either studiously ignoring or completely ignorant to the unfolding scene in the elevated and pleasantly shadowed VIP room that overlooked the open floor of the bar as its music and customers filled the air with their noise.

The party was in full swing when Samson and Persephone arrived hours before to check preparations and to check into the room Vlad had saved for them. It was hardly dinner time and the party, and more importantly, Vlad’s business, had been booming for all those hours. Fortunately, the patrons were oblivious as to the identity of the VIP section occupants.

Kissing the hair that spilled over her ear, ripped more sobs from her core as she wrapped her fingers in his shirt. She clenched her fists to his chest. It was as if she was trying to crawl into his skin with him.

Samson was free of his weapons so he could curl and move to hold her properly. His blade, pistols, and hold-out knife were stacked unceremoniously in a tangled pile of web gear, clips, holsters, and weaponry on the next table. Once the guards were in place, and they were anonymously safely ensconced, in the VIP room’s shadows, she had stripped off Samson’s bothersome contraptions, and their assorted snags, bumps, straps, and hard spots.

Cupping her head in his left hand and firmly stroking her back with his right, “That’s alright, Beautiful, let it out … It will all be over soon.” She nodded her head, under his hand, accepting the soothing words, as her tears tapered off.

Samson sighed and wondered how long it would take before they were found and stomped out of existence. After the attack last week, the other side was getting too close. It was only a matter of time before they caught up with her. Death could come from anything from carefully placed poison, a bomb, a sniper, another hit squad, or a Capital Ship round blasting through the atmosphere. Either way, dead was dead, and Samson’s heart broke for the sweet, funny, intelligent, wonderful, magnificent woman in his arms.

The thought of someone deliberately trying to exterminate such a beautiful creature set him to bury his own face in her shoulder and neck to deliver a kiss. He would never admit to her or even himself that in exchange, her shirt picked up a degree of moisture from the corner of his eyes too.

To kill her over something as base as power, monetary gain, or self-aggrandizement, the enormity of that sin was beyond what Samson’s moral structure could calculate.

Samson reflected that men and combatants were fair game. Stepping outside the realm of willing warriors’ participants who committed themselves to the trade of war, to slaughter innocents, women and children was beyond him. There was no honor in acquiring those servants in the afterlife. The quality of those killed was vastly more important than quantity. If the kill wasn’t in direct combat, you couldn’t even really claim the kill as your own. It just felt like cheating. Scorching a planet from orbit or precipitating a volley of artillery, wasn’t the same thing as standing toe to toe with another warrior. The angels of death knew the truth of it. They would judge the worth of a warrior’s soul accordingly.

As her tears tapered off into wet smudges, she pulled back her hand and wiped her eyes with a little chuckle, “Sorry about that. Looks like I made a mess.”

Gently stroking her hair, “You’re not a mess. You are just as pretty as the day I met you.”

Balling her fist, she landed a quick little punch on his chest, “You didn’t even like me when we met, you big liar!”

Samson feebly struggled to recover from the pit he had fallen into, and lied his ass off, “I did too.”

She scoffed and snapped, “Liar! You ignored me.”

He made the excuse, “Well, I like you now.”

Persephone playfully accused, “You better! You better more than ‘like’ me, Samson Rockpoint. You’ve been sleeping with me for almost five years.”

Samson teased, “Has it been that long, Persephone? Are you counting the days, marking ticks on your purgatory cell’s wall? You make it sound like an interminable prison sentence.”

Smiling while holding his ears and rocking his head gently from side to side, Persephone whispered, melodramatically, “Yes, you keep me prisoner in my own heart, my dear man. In the plush prison, you have constructed, poor little me hopes never to receive parole. Ever.”

Samson sniped playfully, smiling at her emotional reversal, “Wow, listen to you pretend to be a romantic.”

Offended, she let him know, “Listen ‘Buddy’!” She wagged her finger under his nose, while smiling her beautiful smile, before stroking his face, “I don’t have to pretend anything. You’re mine and I’m not letting you get away, and that’s final.”

Her soft kiss was followed by a second, then a third, and she didn’t break the third. She just wouldn’t let go.

Her, “Ah-hum”, broke the bliss and Persephone jumped, knocking into Samson’s nose. His head thumped into the wall. The newcomer added, “You know, we have rooms for that sort of thing…”

The unexpected whack to the back of his head and nose flipped Samson’s vision out of alignment while his head caught up with what happened. His vision cleared in the instant Persephone blurted, “Vladimir! What are you doing sneaking up on honest people like that!?”

Vlad scoffed, “‘Honest?! There was nothing ‘honest’ or ‘innocent’ about what I just walked in on,” the older man chuckled as he set the small tray with a lid down on the table in front of the pair. “I brought you something. I ordered it for myself and hung around in the kitchen like an annoying housefly while they were cooking it. No poison that I could tell other than the normal toxic taste.”

The joke drew a sneer from Samson and a smirk from Persephone. Hers at least changed to a pleasant smile when Vlad removed the lid from the tray. The smell of freshly cooked cornbread, baby onions in cream sauce, and beautifully marbled, medium-well, ribeye steak filled the room.

The delighted princess smiled. Her eyes fluttered while inhaling the dinner’s aroma, “Vladimir Lee, your sin of sneaking up on honest people is forgiven. Some day you need to show me how you get such wonderful food down here.”

Vladimir sat to Samson’s left on the bench behind the table piled high with Samson’s equipment tangled. When she plucked a piece of cornbread between her fingers and popped it in her mouth, Persephone’s eyes rolled into her head in bliss. The playful smile on Vlad’s crumpled old face only made him look comical, “Sorry, my dear, that is a house secret.”

Folding her knees under herself, Persephone curled into a happy ball on Samson’s lap. She ignored her manners and etiquette and used her fingers to pick at the steaming hot meal. She shared her infectious delight by plucking a steaming onion from the plate and dropping the morsel into Samson’s mouth.

Vlad gestured to the piled equipment and asked, “May I?”

While chewing the onion, Samson nodded in the affirmative.

The aging, medically retired Hegemony soldier slowly drew Samson’s sword blade from the tangle of equipment. The blade seemed to illuminate the room as it was pulled from its black-on-black, scabbard and tangled straps. It was as if he was handling a poisonous snake, sliding the blunt side over his thumb as the silvered steel flashed in the shadows from the lights of the bar.

While by no means a master with the weapon he was holding, Vlad knew the pointy end went into the other man. Vlad turned the blade in the light. He absently caressed the cool, smooth, flat of the blade. “We are ready for your guests. I have extra security on call in the hotel as you asked. They just know that I have asked them to make sure there is no trouble tonight. They are good people and don’t ask questions. I have worked with them all before.”

Turning the hilt to the floor so the blade was shining vertically, before his eyes, Vlad continued, “As you requested the normal rates, half up front, plus the requested offer of a twice bonus for a ‘peaceful evening’.

Vlad reported, “The digital and video connections you requested are in place. I have three hard-wired servers spaced over several hundred kilometers of lines that physically lead away from here, all fire-walled and secured independently before they connect to the public net. Pushing data will not create a broadcast footprint here like your last adventure.”

At some point during his lecture, Persephone had switched to the fork and knife to work on the steak. She asked, “You saw that down here?”

Looking up from his musing, Vlad scoffed, “Persephone, everyone on the planet saw that broadcast. If they didn’t see it live, they saw it in replays twenty-four hours a day on every channel and every data net site that could push the required bandwidth. Face it ‘run-away princess’, you and your man here are the most famous people on the planet. The only reason the peons out there partying in my club aren’t mobbing you two for autographs now is because we snuck you in through the hotel, to the restaurant, and in the service entrance to the club. If they knew you two were in this room, I could put every man we hired for tonight into formation in front of that door and still not keep everyone out.

Persephone shared, “I’ll have enough trouble when April shows up. Her star has definitely risen since her first interview. The woman can start her own network on just the file footage she has rights to so far. Did you know that they both quit their day jobs and are working exclusively on a percentage of gross contract to the highest bidder now?”

That was news to Samson, who didn’t really pay attention to that sort of entertainment news, but he should have picked it up as a change in their overall situation.

Persephone leaned back onto his shoulder, fork, and knife in hand, while she briefly thought, “No, I hadn’t realized that. Is this really that interesting to people?”

Vlad smiled. “Persephone, when April and Guillermo make the final sale of this interview tonight, they will both be in the top one percent of the planet’s ‘wealthiest people’ bracket. If your man Bryce can break away clean and get them here unfollowed, by the time the interview is over she will be a very happy woman, as will Guillermo’s wife.

Vlad started wrapping up, “So, the contract is let. No one outside this room except your two personal bouncers here, April, Guillermo, and your assistant, know what is going to happen in this room.” As Vlad returned to his chain of thought he absently stroked the blade in his hands. “Where was I … data is in place, and we have hard-wired server lines set up to break out the signal from here before broadcast so no one will be able to home in on our transmission to this location. When your man Bryce gets here, hopefully cleanly, we will bring Miss April in the same way you two entered, back door…”

Samson mumbled an interruption, “Vlad…”

Vlad went back to his focus, “Don’t interrupt me, boy! Oh, and as a touch of irony, Persephone, your parents are hosting another live vid recorded state function tonight, all the mucky-mucks will be there. They don’t know what the secret ‘Miss April’ exclusive is, but they will probably lose substantial viewing market share when people see you back on the air.”

Samson’s right arm snaked around Persephone’s waist as he leaned forward, and plucked one of the napkins from the tray, “Vlad…”

Frustrated, the older man snapped, “Damn it! You are rude! What!?”

Handing him the napkin, Samson said simply, “Look at your finger.” Persephone was startled in Samson’s arm as she realized the horrid mess Vlad had created.

Vlad swore as he saw the blood pouring from his thumb, “Monkey dicks!” He snatched the offered napkin with his left and instantly set pressure on his bleeding thumb. Vlad leaned forward and deposited the blade on the tangle of equipment then wrapped his right fist around his shredded left thumb. “How the hell did that happen!? I didn’t even feel it!”

Samson recalled, “It’s a sharp blade, Vlad.”

The older man peeled the cloth napkin back from his finger and the half dozen ragged lacerations over the pad of his thumb began to throb and now started to bleed painfully. “Wow, that tickles! It’s really starting to smart.”

Samson patronized, “Put some disinfectant on it and wrap it smooth and tight so that everything is laying right. The cuts are clean so as long as you don’t play with it you should be good as new in a few days.”

Vlad snapped, “And you know how, young man?”

Samson warned, “Vlad, I sharpen that monster,” with a little chuckle, “It’s bit me once or twice too.”

Nodding the older man stood with a sigh, “I’ll take your advice on that one. I’m going to take care of this,” lifting his cloth and fist-wrapped thumb, “Then check for your young friend Bryce and see if he has arrived yet.”

Persephone smiled while shaking her head, “Thank you, Vlad. I appreciate your hospitality and hard work. Even your company … sometimes.”

Vlad’s indignant ‘harumph’, only capitalized his, “I should charge you two double, you are hazardous to my health.”

This time Samson shook his head and beat her to speak, “Get out of here and go fix yourself, you clumsy, old pirate. You are nothing but a low-down, dirty mercenary, and a greedy pirate to prey on this poor woman’s good intentions.”

Vlad grumbled indignantly, “I’m not interested in her good intentions! I’m interested in the cash money she spends, of which I take a tidy portion for myself. Besides, you’ve already stolen her ‘good intentions’ from what I can see…”

Persephone stiffened at his smile and kicked him twice on his bottom, missing the third as he started walking away. “You better run, old man! Or my ‘good intentions’ will break your hip!” She smiled as she leaned forward and pulled another chunk of cornbread, “My seat warmer here is right. I take back everything nice I ever said about you! You are just a dirty old pirate.”

Vlad smiled from the door, “Enjoy the meal. I’ll bring some drinks up after I fix this mess I made,” raising his abused finger again. “Then I’ll check on Bryce, it shouldn’t be too long now.”

Persephone smiled while Samson replied, “Thank you, Vlad.”

True to his word, Vladimir disappeared for a little over an hour. Persephone and Samson cleaned the plate of everything edible, to the point of repeatedly dragging the fork through the onion’s cream sauce to make sure it was all gone.

At his arrival, Vlad entered with his left thumb quietly tucked out of sight. He was followed by two figures in overcoats, with hoods drawn. Since they had passed the guards and were escorted by Vlad, they should be April and Guillermo. But with Bryce out of sight, there was no telling who they could be. Bryce was supposed to deliver them with Vlad. Then, in turn, should have moved on to his assigned task of moving to secure their room for the evening.

That didn’t stop Samson from keeping the pistol trained on the three of them as they entered. Even concealed under the napkin across Persephone’s lap, it was hard to mistake the ominous outline of a pistol, tracking the three newcomers.

When the two dropped their hoods, inside the room, revealing Guillermo, April, and Bryce finally stepped into the room behind the other three. Samson’s irritation caused him to snap, “Captain! How in the hell did you manage to blow something as simple as a link-up procedure!”

Bryce was stunned and speechless for several moments by the violent public rebuke while all eyes in the room fixed on the younger Guardsman. He could only think to snap to attention, before answering, “But … but High Commander, I did link up…”

Samson snapped, “Vladimir Lee is not in your Chain of Command and is an asset during this operation.” Looking at the older man, Samson calmly added, “A valuable asset but still an asset.”

Vladimir shrugged, “He screwed up. Even I remember those link-up procedures now that you put it that way. He should have reported to you first. Once he had all his pieces and parts accounted for, he should have brought everyone in at once under his personal direction, after coordinating with you before checking other tasks. And I’ve been retired for fifty years.”

Tracking back to Bryce, “We will discuss this later, Captain.”

The younger Guardsman knew that he had screwed up and that he was in trouble, he answered crestfallen, “Yes, High Commander.”

Samson asked, “Which pistol do you want? Hip holster or shoulder?”

Bryce chose, “Hip, Sir.”

Samson’s nod and gestured finger indicated the weapons on the next table over.

Persephone shifted to face Samson’s right. Vlad was explaining the wiring and hooked up to Guillermo while April made her final fusses with her hair and shrugged off the coat to check her appearance.

While plugging in, and following Vlad’s setup instructions, April fussed and corrected some minor spots Guillermo pointed out to her.

Bryce checked the ammunition counts in the pistols on the table and accepted the second from Samson. With both stowed in the holsters, Bryce pulled on the tangle and extracted the one he wanted, adjusted the belt strap, and clipped everything in place. He handed the shoulder holster to Samson, who managed to connect the straps without dislodging Persephone from her comfortable perch.

Leaning forward the two Guardsmen held a quick conference in hushed voices making sure they were on the same page for the rest of the evening. Bryce would stay offline and not break the communication silence. He would instead passively watch the interview as it unfolded. The suite they were staying in was only thirty to forty-five seconds away if anything went wrong. There was no point spoiling their security arrangements by chattering over comms when the simple solution was already at hand.

Bryce departed for the service entrance for the hotel complex kitchens. Guillermo and April made final preparations. Vladimir took the opportunity to ask, “High Commander?” The question drew April’s attention while Guillermo made some final fussing alterations to his anchor and new business partner.

Samson’s evasive answer of, “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” set the old man laughing. Vlad then left to tend to his business. Samson’s evasion only piqued April’s curiosity.

When Persephone ignored April’s polite offer to ‘move’ so they could be seated together instead of with Persephone’s present disposition in Samson’s lap, was refused, April added more questions to her silent list and took mental note of the informality between the two.

The plate of food had long since been bussed. Samson’s pistol was visible but carefully tucked away. The two blades lay in the background. Persephone swept her long, loose hair behind her ears, smiled at April, and nodded once signifying that she was ready to begin the interview.

After April’s mandatory self-introduction, she prefaced the interview by stating that she was live from an undisclosed location and interviewing Persephone Chroynos.

Vlad continued his constant efforts to perturb Samson. Vlad changed the video screens in his club to the televised state dinner hosted by Persephone’s parents. Vlad knew better than to allow the interview to be played live in his club. The ‘regulars’ would recognize the scenery. He could irritate Samson and maintain his contracted security at the same time which pleased Vlad infinitely. His customers would probably be none the wiser either, they would probably think it was just a different joke about their sub-societal counterculture. His joke was lost on April and Persephone because they were busy. Samson had the time to look at the screens and realized Vlad’s joking ploy for what it was.

Lost in his own thoughts and secure in the knowledge that all the questions would be for Persephone. Samson spent several minutes reviewing the layout of the facilities and various tactical considerations. ‘Bryce will be running final checks on the hotel suite by now … He should have the security detail coordinated too, so they will be on the ball. They might get an idea of who they are protecting. Hopefully, that won’t offend any of their sensibilities. They are mercenaries after all.’ Samson’s mental rambling was violently derailed and crashed to a halt when Persephone applied her elbow gently to his ribs.

She said overly politely, “Samson,” with a ‘cut and paste camera smile’ tacked to her face, “You have been asked the same question twice and you are live on vid.”

That pulled him back to the closer reality as he asked, “What was that?”

Before April could politely repeat the question, Persephone blurted out, “Samson Rockpoint! Haven’t you been paying attention at all! What have you been thinking about for the last fifteen minutes of this interview?!”

Forgetting the camera, April, and the surroundings completely, Samson automatically answered her question, “Well … people and potential security threats in the area, location and layout of exits, times required for each, best case – worst case scenarios…”

Leaning on him with her right side, while facing the camera to Samson’s right, her right hand cupped his chin, in the ‘V’ of her thumb and index finger. While shaking his head gently she scolded while smiling, “You, Sir, need to learn how to pay attention to what’s going on around you.”

She was still happily rolling his head side to side, “Stop it you … Persephone, why don’t you tell me the question before you unscrew my head from my neck.”

Dropping her hand to her lap, but still smiling, “April asked why you were called ‘High Commander’ just now in your little Military conversation before the interview started.”

Samson looked at Persephone confused, “Well … because I am.”

Persephone rolled her eyes and shook her head, “We just can’t take you anywhere, can we? Don’t tell me.” Manually turning his head, “Tell April and her friend ‘Mister Camera’.”

Reluctantly swallowing his frustration at being pulled into this conversation as anything more than scenery, Samson answered April, “Because I am the High Commander of the Guard.”

April blinked twice but maintained her camera smile, and she rephrased the question, “Since your dramatic arrival on the scene during last week’s exciting interview, you have been the topic of much speculation.”

Samson, unknowingly interrupted her lead in a statement to the question, “Okay…”

This threw off April’s timing and caused her to stutter-step. “Well, as I was saying, there has been a lot of speculation about who you are and what you are doing with Lady Persephone. How did you obtain the title you are using? That is a lofty declaration of rank.”

Samson realized he was in the crosshairs and answered carefully, “Because I was asked to provide security for the most dangerous assignment and most valuable member of the family, outside of the normal support structures associated with being a Guardsman.”

April started, “Well, what prompted such a decision, and,” April caught herself and redirected whatever other phrase she was about to use to a more polite, “Change of fortunes for yourself?”

Samson caught that euphemism like it was a hammer hitting the center of his chest. It also set off alarm bells in every corner of his brain. “I’m sorry April. I need to be very careful what I say on that subject. I can’t speak to specifics. I think I am safe to say that Lord Phyllip Chroynos is a brilliant strategist and highly capable commander in his own right. He made a necessary strategic decision to confound enemies of the family.”

April replied quickly, “Sir, I think you just said a lot there that I for one will need to think about because there are a lot of implications, innuendo, and additional questions hiding there. But … Why the title of ‘High Commander’? It sounds important but that is not a typical military rank that I am familiar with.”

Samson answered formally, “It is a singular and prestigious rank, Ma’am.”

April asked for clarity, “Singular as in what? I don’t understand that.”

Samson hesitated for a moment. Still a little uncomfortable with everything associated with the ‘High Commander’ rank himself, he was having trouble thinking of a way to explain it without sounding like an arrogant prick. “Well, April, it’s a Guardsmen rank. It isn’t a typical Hegemony Military rank, as most people would be familiar with it.”

Guillermo shifted in a modest arc to Samson’s left to encompass more of the three interviewees. As his eyes flicked back to April, he remembered that he was on video live to an enormous number of people. Samson felt his palms sweat a little and tried to dry them off on his leg but only looked fidgety and nervous.

April pressed, “I have never even heard of that rank before tonight.”

Samson answered carefully and evasively, “It was held by the same person for over two decades and his other titles superseded it, so it was effectively a, to use a military term, ‘hat’ he never wore in public.”

April demanded clarification, “And what does that mean? ‘Hat’? Why would that have anything to do with … anything.” April didn’t mean to offend but asked the question before she thought about it, in her own frustration and confusion, but was aware enough not to recant on a live broadcast.

Samson explained the jargon, “Sorry. It is military jargon. Commanders wear ‘hats’ as a shorthand for assignment or posting. Each command has its own ‘hat’. So, a Commander might have a company of infantry and also wear the figurative ‘Personnel’ or ‘Operations’ Officer ‘hat’ within the larger unit. They have both jobs and responsibilities but are addressed by the higher of the two posts.”

April clarified, “I think I understand. Just to be clear though, you ‘inherited’ this title?”

Samson answered quietly, “Yes, Ma’am, typically it is passed through retirement or death in the line of duty to the next most senior Guardsmen.”

April asked, “Someone had to die for you to receive this rank!?”

Samson chuckled at her misunderstanding. “No, April, not this time. This time ‘retirement’ is probably the best word. Or the closest I can think of to the truth at the moment.”

April tried to confirm, “I have still never heard of this rank. Are you saying that there is only one person with this rank at a time in the whole Hegemony?”

Samson agreed, “Yes. It is a unique rank. And there is not much ‘turn-over’ at the upper levels of the Guardsmen ranks, but there is always a High Commander in communications with the rest of the Empire.”

April followed up, “Who did you inherit from? I’m assuming he ‘retired’?”

Samson grudgingly admitted, “He only retired for the position of ‘High Commander’. I was chosen by High Commander Phyllip Chroynos. He held the posting for the last twenty-two years. He just handed it off recently. Since his other title or ‘hat’ is ‘CEO’ Chroynos, for the last twenty-three, or so, years he has held both positions in the rank structure.”

Seemingly for clarity, April repeated back, “So instead of calling CEO Chroynos ‘High Commander’ he has only been called ‘CEO’ as the higher of the two? Why did he hold the rank of ‘High Commander’?”

Persephone’s hand fell over Samson’s hand silently asking him to calm his irritated but still forming response.

As requested by Persephone, Samson took a breath before replying, “Because Phyllip Chroynos is also one of the most highly decorated Guardsmen in the history of the Empire. His valor in the face of the enemy, brilliance in the field as a commander of troops, and judicious treatment of everyone in his commands advanced him, on pure merit, in our ranks, to the top of the Guardsmen command structure.

Samson informed them, “Guardsmen do not consider family lineages to determine promotions and advancement. It is a pure meritocracy. Lord Phyllip is the son of the greatest family in the Empire. I am the orphaned son of an armored vehicle crewman and an office clerical worker.

“If you were going to pull parts of people’s personalities and try to custom tailor a leader for an Empire, you could be hard-pressed to assemble a human of Phyllip Chroynos’ wisdom, intelligence, virtue, integrity, and talents.”

Before April could reply, from sitting slack-jawed during the last description, the back of Persephone’s right hand stroked Samson’s cheek and drew his face forward to look at her. She just smiled, just looking at him, and appeared to have forgotten to breathe.

Samson’s eyes flicked over her shoulder to the vid screen on the wall over the bar. From left to right on the screen three of the four most senior peers of the Empire were arrayed for all to see. Phyllip Chroynos was looking slightly up, shaking his head ever so slightly, with a strange little half smile. Lady Celine was wide-eyed, unblinking, with her mouth agape trying to cover her shock with her slender hand, which was nowhere near up to the task of eclipsing the frozen expression. Lord Thanatyos was leaning back in his seat, looking over his left shoulder talking to his personal Guardsman, who was leaning over listening from behind his chair.

Samson’s inner monologue regarding Guardsmen ‘Alexios Komenos VI’ was less than cordial. The two men had a running animosity that had colored their relationship for years. Though they were carrying similar years of service, with Alexios two years senior, Samson had passed him in the ranks, rather quickly, and had never looked back.

That Samson outranked him by a full two grades for the last eight years of their service together, which did nothing to help the relationship. Now that he outranked Alexios substantially, Alexios’ point of view would be even more warped.

From his perspective, Samson didn’t care. Alexios was an amoral ass. He had few redeeming qualities other than a strong arm and amazing physical endurance for a man of his size.

The side of Samson’s face that was away from the camera, but that Persephone could see, querked in a brief twinge of disdain when Alexios stood and left his master’s shoulder.

Persephone’s brief puzzled look was interrupted by April’s next question. “I don’t want to seem,” April paused looking for the word, “‘Indelicate’, but I have had a lot of opportunities to review things since our last adventure together. So, I need to just ask … Samson, your name is officially ‘John Smith’, how is it that you are now High Commander of the Guardsmen?”

Looking from April to Persephone, smiling, then back to April, Samson answered, paraphrasing the Chroynos Princess, “Lord Chroynos has a big pen. When he signs something, it is pretty much the law of the land.”

April shook her head, unable to catch her confusion before it was recorded and broadcast by Guillermo’s camera, “Okay … So, you have some document of ‘Pardon’ from Lord Chroynos?”

Samson answered a little obliquely, obscuring his orders, “Yes, April, unfortunately, it is not that formal. I’ll call it a ‘Letter of Intent’.”

April blinked twice and dove into her prepared interview, “I did have to do some research before this interview to make sure I was prepared now that I knew your identity … you were caught, tried, and convicted of a series of offenses from public exposure, to breaking and entering, to conduct unbecoming, to oath-breaking. All of which are capital offenses in the Empire, each alone a matter of dishonor but you have been labeled with the name of ultimate dishonor, the name of no names, ‘John Smith’ … What happened that day?”

Samson’s ‘rogue’s smile’ was captured for the world to see. His eyes flicked to Persephone, her legs were still doubled under her in his lap, as she leaned against him, but she was looking down and hidden from the camera behind her hair that had fallen free. She blushed in embarrassment.

The audience couldn’t see her, but April could, and she caught the flick of her eyes and realized she was on much more dangerous ground than she had anticipated. The investigative journalist in her had just opened a line of questioning into this strange man without knowing where it would lead. April was nearly panicked when she saw the potential connection between his fall and her patron, the woman who had just made April’s fortune in the last few weeks interviewing Persephone. Her own survival and credibility as a journalist were in serious jeopardy. Not to mention the potential undying wrath of the Empire’s first family. As sweet as she was, the Empire’s paragon of propriety, Lady Celine Udell Chroynos was unrelenting in pursuit of those who harmed her family. The unremitting wrath Lady Celine Udell Chroynos unleashed on journalists, after the death of her four oldest children, and several series on corruption and how those children had ‘deserved to die’ was legendary in journalistic circles. Those stories had all turned out to be liable and Celine single-handedly destroyed the journalists’ careers and bankrupted their families with perpetual personal slander lawsuits. She crushed the corporations that carried, distributed, and perpetuated the slander as accomplices. As if to punctuate her unassailable position, after she crushed those individuals and organizations, she took all the proceeds from the suits, matched the credit amounts with two credits of her own, and set up memorial charities, schools, and children’s projects.

Not only had she ruthlessly decimated those who offended her family, but she came out in an even stronger position as a result.

Fear justifiably gripped April. The next few seconds could destroy her, and she had absolutely no control over the answers all because she hadn’t realized Persephone was involved in Samson’s public fall early in the year prior.

Samson was oblivious to journalistic politics. He had been too busy at the academy than on campaign when all that was happening. Samson joked to April, “That was an interesting day wasn’t it?” Samson looked down, thinking of a way to answer.

Before he could answer, Persephone blurted out, “That was my fault!”

April and Samson both asked, shocked for different reasons, “What?!” Even the unflappable Guillermo blinked twice rapidly and twitched his head back from the camera view screen in surprise.

Samson locked his mouth shut. He was determined to keep his foot out of it.

Still stunned, April sputtered, “What do you mean? How could that possibly have been your fault?!”

Persephone’s pained look and bit lip told Samson exactly what she was going to say while she was still looking into his eyes. He kept his mouth pinched closed and shook his head ‘no’ repeatedly in small jerky desperation.

He gave up when her shoulders slumped, she blinked slowly, and she nodded vertically twice. Her mind was made up and nothing he could say could change it. He sighed in defeat as the shame he suffered so much to hide over the last year started to tumble out of Persephone.

Persephone confessed, “It was my fault April. I was … ‘being bad’, and this wonderful man took the blame for me. Literally gave the clothes off his back to protect me!” She shifted and dropped her bottom onto his knees, with her own knees on the soft padded bench next to Samson’s thighs. She brushed the long hair back from her left ear, so April and the camera could see her face while she faced Samson. “It was a game, April. I wanted to see how bad I could be.”

April was stunned, “A game?”

Persephone groaned, “Yes, April,” Samson just kept his mouth shut and leaned back against the wall. He knew she needed to say this, regardless of what he wanted. This was what she wanted. “I’m shy. Naturally shy. Over many years of practice instruction and lessons from people like my wonderful mother, I am still shy but I ‘like’ the nervous-excited feelings I get when doing something in public. I do everything I can now to feel that rush.

“I didn’t know that someone was following me. Looking for a way to discredit me and embarrass my family because of me. It would disrupt my family’s ability to accomplish what it needs for the good of the Empire and I would need to be disinherited.

“The day wonderful Samson fell from grace was a setup. It was an attack aimed at me, and my foolish thrill-seeking. It went wrong. He stayed behind to keep their attention so I could get away. Then I had to sit and watch in a silent hell while he was stripped of everything and flayed publicly because of me … because he loved me. And still loves me … the same as I love him with all of my heart and soul.” Her hands moved to the sides of Samson’s face as she was on the verge of tears, her eyes inches from his own.

When she leaned in to kiss him that was expected. When she didn’t break the kiss for many minutes, April had nothing to do but sit and stare into space and wish she was somewhere else.

Like a stone, Guillermo caught it all for the billions of viewers to watch.

With her arms wrapped tight around his neck, she finally leaned back. When he kissed her on the nose and told her he loved her, she smiled shyly.

Her head fell to his chest, facing April, and lodged under his chin. Her arms encircled him. Blushing to April, “My poor mother will be mortified when she sees that.”

Stroking her upper arm with his right thumb, Samson said quietly, “Persephone…”

Dreamily she replied, “Humm?” When she looked down at his finger and followed where he was pointing, the monitor over Vlad’s bar was centered on a profoundly embarrassed mother, leaning on her elbows, smothering her face in both hands. Next to the mother was a pale-faced father dealing with an imperial crisis, he had not anticipated exploding in his face that particular evening.

When the image registered with the daughter, she blushed and sheepishly added, “Hi Mom,” followed by a nervous little hand wave at the camera.

Celine didn’t look up, but waved her hand twice, as she must have thought about crawling under the table. Celine found she was instead trapped in her chair, elbows firmly cemented to the table.

Persephone’s wisecrack about ‘too bad there are no commercial breaks in her own life’, politely steered the conversation away from its unfolding disastrous downward plunge. April finally gasped a breath in relief.

Thankfully, she also steered things away from Samson. He could pretend he was a couch cushion for the bony little princess.

Samson felt safe and the same color as the walls and bench cushions. He could fade into obscurity and let the girls discuss everything from favorite foods to shoes, to favored clothing material.

Guillermo maintained his perfect statuesque presence, never moving, breathing, shuffling a foot, or otherwise disturbing the captured images unless a particular shot prompted an advantageous movement.

After having scanned the crowd below for the fiftieth time Samson had to take the moment to admire the man’s skills. The tedium of the fashion debate was mind-numbing. Samson had to admire Guillermo’s patience; it was like watching a mountain contemplate a hill.

Trying to avoid drawing attention to himself Samson could see the Imperial dinner had begun to move along again, with the occasional glance up to ‘the amusing daughter’. Samson took the moment to slip his comm from his pocket so he could check the time. It had been almost three hours since they had finished dinner. The interview had been running for over ninety minutes.

While wondering how much longer it would be before his legs fell asleep, under the increasingly heavy woman, something drew his attention. She had progressed from ‘weightless’, to ‘perched’, to ‘resting’, to ‘sitting’, and was rapidly approaching the ‘she needs to find her own seat’ level of burden. On listening more carefully to the conversation, both women mentioned that they wanted something to drink.

Finally, with something at hand that he could accomplish Samson pulled a coin from his pocket. The bouncer on the right side of the door frame was easier to see and showed more of a silhouette. Samson tossed the coin at the man’s back.

The light-distracting impact drew an angry glance.

Ready for the look, Samson pointed at the coin once he had the bouncer’s attention. Then he presented two fingers, signed his fingers like he was holding a glass tipped them to his mouth, and then turned his hand sideways to point at the two women. The bouncer nodded in understanding and spoke quietly to his partner. The women continued the interview undisturbed.

When the bouncer returned, he brought the two glasses of ice water himself, saving the trouble of quarantining a serving girl, for the duration of the interview.

That little blessing life provided ended as he set the drinks on the table and faded back into his post at the door frame, and April asked a difficult question. April took a brief pause to, as artfully as possible sip her water, “Lady Persephone … you are twenty-three, almost twenty-four, now, aren’t you?”

Persephone smiled and replied with the age-old joke, “Why, April! You know it is not polite to ask a woman’s age.” Before April could restate, Persephone replied, “Yes, I am. Why do you ask?” Persephone raised her water to take a sip.

April pried using facts, “I ask because I recalled, just a moment ago, that you are in a marital arrangement with another great house of the Empire. The CEO of the Military Conglomerate, as I recall … Rheas … General Rheas Zastphere.”

Persephone’s glass thumped to the table, while Samson’s mind flew between picking her up and running for the door and crawling under the table himself to hide. When Samson looked up, Persephone’s mother on the vid screen was now plastered to the back of her chair, mouth open, and terror-stricken in suspenseful anticipation of her daughter’s answer.

After what seemed like an eternity, Persephone sighed. “Yes. In a little under two years, I am scheduled to marry … I just don’t know if I am the kind of quality woman Rheas needs.”

April objected immediately, “Lady Persephone! What do you mean! You are the most eligible bachelorette in the Empire. You have an excellent family, you are intelligent, courageous, beautiful, and funny.”

Sagging, Persephone admitted, “And a run-away, a shame to my family, an undisciplined child who can’t sit still for longer than fifteen minutes, and more trouble than I’m worth.” The miserable young woman continued, “Rheas is a sweet, wonderful man who will make an excellent husband, but he needs a good woman. He needs someone like my friend Colleen. A proper woman from toes to hair.” Persephone shrank visibly under the weight of her misery. “I don’t know how I could possibly make Rheas happy.” To punctuate her point when she looked at Samson her eyes finished by silently saying, ‘And my heart belongs to another.’

As with all perfect moments in his life, this one ended far too soon for Samson’s preference.

Breaking glass and a woman screaming at the main entrance ripped Samson’s attention into overdrive.

The unflappable Guillermo was actually surprised and jumped, jostling the video image of the three.

The challenging voice of a large powerful stranger bellowed, “‘John Smith’, you self-aggrandizing piece of shit! Come out here so I can kill you like the mongrel bastard you are!” The deep, resonant, shortcut through the sounds of the bar, and was so clearly audible over normal conversation and the background music that both settled to near silence.

Samson knew that voice. Calmly controlled anger coursed through his blood, as every heartbeat registered strong and calm in his ears. Pieces snapped into place in Samson’s head.

The club froze, stuck in that small but still infinite time between heartbeats while waiting for one to the next beat.

Samson slipped from under Persephone and deposited her on the bench next to April while silently standing to pull his blades from the table.

The camera tracked him as he stood, flexed his knees and shoulders then slipped the ceramic hold-out blade into the back of his pants. His thumb flicked the sword guard to clear the blade from the scabbard.

The bouncers at the door strained against their instructions and desire to pounce on the disturbance.

With his left thumb along the flat of the blade, pushing an inch of the rippling silver steel into sight, he looked at the three and spoke to Persephone, “Bryce will be here in seconds. Use route ‘Alpha’.” With his free right hand, he pulled the pistol from the holster and handed it to her muzzle down before pulling his bandoleer of magazines from his waist. “It’s locked and loaded, safety is on.”

Persephone started panicking, demanding, “What’s wrong Samson? What’s going on?!”

Stroking her left cheek under her eye once, his hand fell to his side. “I think I know, but I don’t like what it means.”

Persephone wailed, “Samson! Talk to me!” Jumping to her feet in front of him, clutching the pistol and bandoleer across her chest, the pleading young woman was in near panic.

The voice bellowed across the now silent bar, “Smith! You worthless goat fucking inbreed! Stop hiding! Face me you coward!”

Samson’s eyes flicked over to the left at the insult. They instead took in the camera and the open-mouth stare of April. “I recognize the voice, Persephone. When Bryce gets here, run. And don’t look back. I love you with everything I am. Goodbye, my love.”

He turned and stepped between the bouncers before she could move to catch him. More importantly, he couldn’t stand to see the heartache he was causing. As they stepped to follow him, his sheathed blade held horizontally in his left hand met the two meaty chests. “She is not to leave unless it is with Guardsmen Mountain. If I fall, grab her and run, and don’t stop, or I will hunt you down in the afterlife and rip your souls apart for the rest of eternity.”

Before the bouncers could nod affirmatively, the next insult arrived, “Is that where you have been hiding all these months?! A back room?! What took you so long! Did you have to pull your pants up after they finished whoring on you! Maybe they were running a train on you! One after the other and you had to finish your last customer, you disgraced sexual deviant, failure!”

Samson didn’t see it, but April and Guillermo had moved to where they could broadcast and cover the contest.

At least one doorman was down in a spreading pool of blood. Samson couldn’t see the rest of the main entrance, but it was littered with glass and broken security gear. The patrons had pulled back to the corners, bar, and seating areas.

The nasty crescent curved blade of the axe ended in a flaring ‘horn’ that extended about six inches past where the handle connected to the blade in two widely spaced metal loops. The blade rocked slowly back and forth from side to side dripping and smearing the blood, from the ‘heart tooth’ as the owner called it, across the floor.

The mockery continued, “How many pretty boys do you have lined up in that fuck line of yours!? Do you get to take any home or are you owned by this pathetic pile of shit and debris at the bottom of the world!?”

Cold and calm, Samson spoke clearly, and without fear or hesitation, “I see you haven’t changed a bit, Alexios. You’re still a loud-mouthed jerk,” replied Samson calmly.

The one-hundred-ten-kilogram man topped Samson by half a head. His substantial reach and mass advantage made the cutting end of that axe lethal with a single blow. He didn’t bother blocking, just hacking. His tireless approach to dismembering enemies was better suited to an ancient woodsman’s attack on a tree, than that of modern Guardsmen.

The ad-hominem insults poured out of Alexios, “And you’re still the same arrogant liar who slept his way to promotions then claims the title for what he doesn’t deserve after his fall and disgrace.”

Standing blade at ease still in the scabbard, Samson faced Alexios. “That’s alright, I can’t believe you were ever allowed to become a Guardsman, let alone retain the title as long as you have, you amoral bastard.” Standing straight and still, Samson’s weathered black shirt and pants, worn through by labor, dirt, and sweat to the point of totally conforming to his body were a stark contrast to the crisp and perfect black and gold Guardsmen duty uniform wrapping Alexios.

Bandying words with the ever-taxing Alexios, delaying him and buying time, was making Samson irritable.

Every second he delayed, buying her space as their security pieces maneuvered, he won. But it still grated on Samson not to attack.

Samson had grown impatient after his silent count had expired. He was about to vow to drum Bryce out of the service for incompetence, if he survived of course, when the overdue arrival burst open the kitchen service doors. The very edge of his left side peripheral vision filled with Vlad’s mercenary riflemen, under Bryce’s command, as they spilled into the room and leveled their rifles at Alexios.

Infuriated at the assumption, Samson roared, “Hold!”

Samson’s deafening command voice froze the newly arrived squad of riflemen. Bryce and Vlad stumbled into a halting tangle, in front of the men in the doorway. The deafening command also instantly killed the murmur of whispered conversation in the hushed bar. The music and normal business noise had died sometime shortly after Alexios broke into the establishment, but that lack of background noise was easy to ignore.

Unsettled by the sudden arrival of a second opposing Guardsman, a squad of rifles, and Samson’s command itself, Alexios jumped slightly. This was something he had obviously not anticipated, nor had his master. Despite this, he managed a large and loud glob of spit which Alexios hurled at the new arrivals. It hit the floor and splashed with a disgusting splat in the silenced club.

Samson’s left hand, still holding the blade, while he faced down Alexios, shot to shoulder height and pointed straight at Vlad who had moved to his own weapon at the instant the insult splashed to his floor. Samson’s conversational statement, “Mine first,” was a point not up for debate. His second statement to the group was a decisive order, “Finish the mission.” It set them to slowly work their way around the one corner between the bar and the room where Persephone was hidden.

Samson didn’t move while his opponent’s now frustrated eyes followed his real objective towards the exit, under heavy guard.

Alexios’ sin of pride had just compromised his mission. His fight with Samson was now a pointless holding action that would only satisfy a minor personal grudge.

Samson’s delaying tactic had succeeded.

Samson won the war before the battle even started. Win or lose, live or die, the most precious person in the world was safe a little longer. Hopefully, it would be long enough for someone else, someone who survived these next moments to put together the truth of who was really the mastermind of these plots against Persephone.

That grim truth would shake the Empire to its core. And he knew it.

His left thumb stroked the flat of his partially exposed blade. The smooth caress of the cool steel on his skin was awakening his senses. His right fist closed and cracked every joint from fingertips to wrist. His steel claw burned for use and he could feel the sword calling his hand.

Somewhere far off he could hear a young woman being dragged away, very much against her will.

Fear, anxiety, pain, anger, and frustration fell away from Samson with every calm breath and luxurious exhale.

The other man’s eyes changed as the two floated in the silence of their personal void. The horn at the tip of the axe turned down to the floor and drew a thin arc of blood across the floor, like the finest fountain pen, on thick expensive paper.

The silence of the bloody axe blade leaving the floor rung in the air. It seemed louder than a transport lifting from the starport.

Samson’s thumb pushed across the steel. His fingers curled drawing the scabbard into a firm grip, rotating the blade’s orientation to vertical.

The axe reached shoulder level. The shoulders moved, and the right foot pressed the floor at the toes, telegraphing the strike. The axe blade started forward to remove Samson’s head.

Samson’s left foot stepped to his front left. His hands kissed for an instant at the middle of his stomach.

Steel sang into the air.

The blinding flash of the blade caught the light as it flipped, down, out, and finally behind his fist.

The air where his head had been a second before parted with the ominous hum of the axe blade. Samson stepped low to the floor with his right leg past Alexios and punched the air just outside his hip. The blade bit clothing and flesh exactly where it was supposed to.

Something was wrong.

The blade did not pull against his grip with enough resistance from properly parting flesh.

The follow through slipped the blade past the limb, to meet his left hand centered at his chest level. With both hands stacked on the blade, palms stacked on top of the flat of the hilt cupped lovingly in the palm of his left hand, Samson drove the blade into the kidney of his doubled-over and off-balance opponent.

The blade stopped. The force of Samson’s blow lurched him straight and off balance. Where the follow-through into the doubled-over target should have pushed the blade through the kidney, liver, stomach, and out the ribs in the front of his target’s chest, Samson was disappointed as the blade failed to bite.

His calm and focus crumbled for a moment. That brief fatal moment.

He looked at the point of the blade. It punched clean through the uniform but stopped where the flesh should have started.

The off-balance but powerful backhand swing of the ax, was just clear enough in his peripheral vision, that Samson had a fraction of a second warning before the danger landed.

Falling away from his disappointment, he rolled so his back would land first. He pulled the blade and scabbard in across his chest and held them away from his body.

The horrifically slow turning fall afforded Samson a perfect view of the axe hilt followed by the blade. The blunt side of the thick handle was still enough to break his neck, or skull, or best case, render him unconscious. It passed so close it felt like it brushed the imaginary hairs on the tip of his nose.

The giant man stepped forward over the fallen Samson, hands drawn over his head as they both met on the axe after he spun through his last backhand.

The silver sword lashed out and bit clothing and stopped. It should have pushed through to sever the massive vein below the heart.

The axe fell. The breath that the spectators inhaled sucked the air out of the room. Samson rolled to his left, pulling his blade with him. The axe bit into the floor and cracked huge jagged splinters in its wake where Samson lay helplessly prone the instant before.

Samson rolled to his right. The black scabbard cracked behind Alexios’ right eye, as he swung the empty scabbard, still clutched in his left hand, at Alexios’ face. The carved black wood shattered with the force of the impact. Rolling over the flat of his own sword, Samson’s shoulder and chest pushed the axe from the dazed grip of Alexios.

Rolling left onto his back, Samson’s blade remained gripped in his right hand over the axe on the floor next to him. Samson curled his knees to his chest and exploded both feet up into Alexios’ face. The boots landed with a satisfying and audible crunch that echoed around the room. The blow staggered Alexios back allowing Samson to recover his legs to his chest and reach them behind his head so he could roll over his left shoulder.

When he landed in his crouched position, he pulled several splinters from the floor out of his shirt. While stepping back, Samson casually flipped the blade from his usual reverse grip to the conventional standard grip.

Samson pondered this enemy, who was bleeding from the strike to the leg, chest, and presumably his back. He was not bleeding anywhere near as much as he should be. Any one of those three strikes should have been lethal. The strikes should have severed major arteries or ruptured so many internal organs that the shock and subsequent blood loss should have killed within a few moments.

Samson knew he was hitting his marks. The leg laceration alone was clear as the uniform fabric had folded away from the bleeding wound, but it was a scratch, and a surface scratch at that.

The voice of his love should have been long gone, but she still cried, “Angela!” Turning to look at the service door, he saw Persephone was clinging to the door frame fiercely. Bryce and his squad had obviously stopped trying to pull her away, “Like Angela! When she tried to kill me! Fiber mesh under the skin!”

Instead of picking up on the vital clue Persephone was offering, Samson only wondered the silent question, ‘What’s she still doing here?’

The crushing blow to his midsection lifted Samson off his feet. Stars exploded in his vision much too fast for the pain to have arrived and registered in his brain. “I’m going to crush the life out of you motherfucker!” Alexios stepped around Samson and pulled the handle of the axe across Samson’s neck, and with both hands started to crush his neck and windpipe. Samson pinched his chin and collarbones together over the handle, slowing its lethal progress.

Alexios’ weightlifter’s cross grip on the handle pinched Samson’s neck, slowing blood flow, despite his efforts to stop the handle. Alexios’ crushing cross grip left his right hand facing palm down and his left hand curling back against the straight shaft, pressing Samson’s shoulder forward with the outside of his forearm and elbow.

Desperate, with vision fading, Samson clawed at the hands, gaining no purchase on either the handle or fists holding it.

Finally, his hands closed around Alexios’ left hand. Samson grasped an available finger and pulled. Alexios’ pinky finger snapped with an audible pop. Samson moved to the next finger and cracked it like a thick stick. It broke in two places and Samson twisted it backward over Alexios’ assaulted hand. The pain and expectation of Samson’s ruthless approach to shattering his way up Alexios’ hand was too much for Alexios, he had to release Samson, or he would lose the use of that hand for the duration of the fight.

The grip expired and Samson was free. Gasping, breath coursed like fire into his lungs. Every pull of air ripped into Samson, painful and seemingly incomplete. Samson staggered under the weight of his own body. Alexios shook his disfigured left hand and cracked the broken fingers back into place by gripping the hilt of the axe and crushing them into place with his right hand.

The gruesome spectacle drew a sickly moaning gasp from the audience.

As his vision returned to a staggering parody of normal, Samson realized he had lost his sword somehow.

Alexios had recovered. His axe was back over his right shoulder as he growled into the deathly silence of the bar and he began a horizontal swing. Samson saw his sword; it was to the left and under the swinging ax.

Samson threw himself backward onto his right hand while keeping his feet planted. The axe head parted the air where his head had been a split second before. The axe’s follow-through took Alexios around and forced a second step before he could reverse the heavy blade and swing backhanded. If he could manage, Alexios would catch Samson’s spine and neck.

Samson pushed off his right hand and rolled forward to snatch the blade from the floor, again in a standard grip. The backhand swing took all of Samson’s strength to deflect, with the sword. From his crouched position, he had to support the flat of the blade with the palm of his left hand, where the axe would strike.

The deafening ring of steel on steel echoed and startled the patrons. Patrons who as a society had not seen such a blood sport since Ancient Earth was ancient, in the sands of the coliseums of legend, were enthralled.

Samson took a different approach.

The axe was deflected by his blade.

Samson’s hand stung like hell.

This deflection pulled the attacker off balance, as the momentum and mass pulled him up and away from his intended target.

Samson stepped forward from under his blade, turned out of his defensive crouch to face Alexios’ back, and ended his movement in a perfect high guard sword position. The ensuing catastrophic blow that fell, ended in a wet crunching sound, as the blade again stopped short. But this time Samson could see the deformed bulges to either side of the blade. Splintered ribs created a sickening double mountain range and bleeding valley straight down Alexios’ back, just inside his left collar bone and scapula.

Before Samson could recover from the strike, Alexios countered by swinging himself around and away from the wounding blade strike that cracked his ribs, dragging the massive axe along with him.

A step forward into the arc of the ax brought Samson into Alexios’ shoulder. The hilt thumped into his ribs. Samson spun in the same direction as the blade and elbowed Alexios as hard as he could in the lower ribs.

Now back to back, the much stronger Alexios countered with an elbow of his own that landed on Samson’s left side and sent Samson reeling, seeing stars, and falling to the floor.

The audience gasped and held their breath at home and in the club.

Samson was staggered.

He was still on his left knee, but his right leg was sprawled to his front. The flat of his blade was across his right thigh. As the shadow of Alexios stepped forward, Samson tried to raise the blade but was intercepted.

Alexios’ massive right boot, with all his weight behind it, fell on the blade, just below the hilt. The hilt was ripped from Samson’s hand. The meat of his thigh stopped the hilt and cross guard. Alexios kicked through the blade and broke it at the guard.

The ringing snap was lost to Samson’s ears as the extreme pain in his thigh blocked out any other possible sensory perception.

The hand that closed over the front of his shirt and dragged him to his feet, was remorseless and could have been made of hammered iron. “You are going to die here. Today…” The hilt of the axe thumped around the ribs in the small of Samson’s back. Samson’s thigh shot hot fire up and down his body with every beat of his heart. Alexios’ chest pressed to Samson’s abs and lower ribs, lifting and bending him backward over the implacable axe handle and crushing him into the solid mountain mass of Alexios’ chest. “I am going to crush the life out of you … ‘John Smith’ … You pretend to be a Guardsman.”

Samson took the deepest breath his lungs could hold and forced his mouth and throat closed to trap the volume in his chest.

The terrifically powerful Alexios, rasped through his own pain and brutal determination, “You were a weakling and disgrace while you were a real man.” Crushing tighter, “You are now still a disgrace after your fall.”

Samson’s hands closed over Alexios’ neck and face, pushing both back until Samson’s knuckles turned white and muscles screamed. Alexios continued to mock, parodying Samson, “You will be my servant in the afterlife. I will break your back while I choke the life out of you. You will crawl to me on your elbows for the rest of eternity.” Alexios turned, so Persephone could see Samson’s face while he died.

Samson cinched his hand tighter, pressing the veins in Alexios’ neck, his other trying to push the unyielding face away. Alexios continued, “Your whore will watch. Then I will take her head.”

Samson gasped, “Alexios,” as his vision faded and turned white. He could feel his own pulse pounding behind his eyes.

Grinning through his strain and labors, Alexios mocked Samson, demanding, “What dead man?”

Samson uttered the most vindictive curse he could remember, through his own pain and rage, “My name is Samson James Rockpoint. I am the High Commander of Guardsmen. You will be my thrall for the rest of eternity.” Samson’s back cracked with three sickening crunches, as his spine flexed and was stretched and moved beyond its normal limits. The stunned silence in the room and collectively held breath made the pops and Samson’s grunt all the more audible. Samson swore with a deeply burning holy rage and vengeful spirit, “You will wander blind, deaf, and dumb. Forever at my beck and call, unable to ever find or summon your own thralls. Die screaming you piece of shit.”

Alexios choked as he taxed his muscles to their limit, “Arrogant to the last breath.”

Samson palmed Alexios’ cheeks. Thumbs slipped under Alexios’ eyes as Samson drove each thumb under one of Alexios’ eyes.

With a final jerk of Samson’s arms and hands, his thumbs followed the bone orbitals, behind the eyes, and ripped both through the soft tissue, muscles, and nerve clusters.

Hot blood streamed everywhere; the smell adding to Samson’s deeply savage killing fury and bloodlust.

Alexios’ high-pitched animalistic shrieks echoed through the cavernous arena pit. The horrified audience retched as blood and fluids flew.

Samson’s right hand slapped to the back of his own belt.

The dislodged eyes struck the ground, trailing bloody tatters of meat, and began their first bounce.

Samson’s left hand slapped so hard to Alexios’ right ear, that the overpressure burst the eardrum.

Samson’s right hand held the ceramic hold-out knife, blade down along his forearm, with his thumb pressing on the pummel. It plunged through Alexios’ left eardrum. Samson struck him so hard it shattered and knocked the tiny bones into the violently ruptured brain.

There was a convulsive jerk, as Samson pulled the hilt of the ceramic blade back toward his chest, levering it brutally against the protective artificial fiber-augmented skull. It severed the cerebral cortex, split the brain all the way from the ear to the back of the skull, and violently ended the last gurgling syllable of Alexios’ pain-filled, shrieking cries.

Alexios was dead long before he toppled over backwards, to the floor, dragging Samson down on top of his dead body.

Samson extracted himself from Alexios’ embrace.

Pain shrieked from every part of Samson’s abused form.

Standing on shaky knees and forcing misbehaving muscles in every part of his body to obey, he stooped to pick up the broken blade of his sword. Pressing his palms together against the flats of the blade, Samson plunged it into Alexios’ gaping mouth.

A sickening and exceptionally satisfying crunch echoed in the battle space.

The blade severed Alexios’ spinal column from inside of the protective mesh, under his skin.

Swaying, but straight, with shaking hands, arms, and quivering breath, Samson inhaled deeply over his fallen enemy. Before stomping his boot heel through Alexios’ neck; crushing his larynx, and esophagus.

Samson fulfilled the last part of his blood oath, with a satisfying flare of fury.

Still shaking violently from the adrenaline, Samson didn’t hear the horrified collective gasp from those present.

He didn’t care that they were there. As far as he was concerned, they weren’t even in the same universe.

Samson cursed the spirit of his much-hated fallen enemy, “You aren’t fit to breathe the air of the same world she calls home. Enjoy your time in hell until I join you there. Then your ass is mine for the rest of eternity,” intoned Samson over the broken body of his hated and fallen foe.

With much satisfaction, Samson eyed his vanquished nemesis.

When he was hit from the left side, his fist recoiled immediately to strike the new opponent. The arms and legs that encircled him climbed from his side to front, and when his brain overrode the adrenaline, he realized he was being kissed frantically.

Between the kisses landing on his broken and abused skin and face, he heard, “You … ass! … Don’t … ever … do … anything … like … that … ever! … Ever … again!”

Gentle but steady and strong guiding hands joined Persephone’s. The authoritative command voice next to and guiding Samson, step by step, thundered, “You men! Recover the High Commander’s blades. Secure the area. No one leaves until the Lady is secure.

“If anyone follows, shoot them on sight.

“I will have the High Commander’s property in my hands within fifteen minutes.

“Dispose of that piece of trash. Report when complete!”

The change in Bryce’s voice was beginning to register, as he switched to his close in voice, “Sir?”

Samson slurred, “Yes, Bryce,” as his shaky legs plodded in some unknown direction.

Persephone could hardly breathe through her tears and kisses, as Bryce quietly put in, “Whatever happens in the near future,” through the rush of their mercenaries. Samson could only drone forward on autopilot, under Bryce’s guiding hand, as Bryce finished, “Please don’t make me your thrall like that.”

Persephone choked a laugh out of her sobs.

Samson just nodded and kept walking.

Thank You!

Thank you for reading this chapter!

Your next chapter is HERE.

If you liked what you read and you are interested in the full book the links are HERE on the Blood Debts book page…

However, if you are more interested in the narrated version, you can catch the start of your author-narrated series HERE:

Enjoy!